


A Man in Uniform

by VeronicaRich



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaRich/pseuds/VeronicaRich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after "Trojan" in Series X; Rimmer still has resentment issues that Lister has to try to cure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Man in Uniform

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed; if you find any errors, please feedback

Half-asleep, Lister sipped at his cooling mug of coffee, resting forward with his other arm on the table and trying to bring the rest of his world into more than a bleary reddish focus. Mostly, it was filled with muttering and minimal movement, mostly nostril flexing, as Rimmer's head was bent over his work.

"Stupid, stupid man," Rimmer was gnashing out. He poked at the frazzled light bee with a tiny metal hook, a job he'd been unsuccessfully trying to ... well, Lister didn't know _what_ the guy was trying to do to Howard's little metal corpse for the past two mornings, exactly. "Me, being a ship captain ... said it like it was such a bloody impossible thing ... where does he get off snotting at _me_ like that and then ... pulling that smegging stupid goited ... damn, last, smegging gesture trying to be all _sacrificing_." Rimmer snorted out a puff of air and looked up. "Sacrificing, Listy," he spat, making it sound like _rectum_. "Him? SACRIFICIAL?"

Lister grunted something between Mmm and a Shee-yeah. He could nearly see the mercury in the cartoon thermometer he pictured on Rimmer's forehead straining to overflow its top.

"I mean, I don't know why I'm bothering. If he came back he'd just lord that damn blasted platinum ... medal thing, over me." Lister knew that Rimmer knew perfectly well what the award was called; he'd only stared at the JMC edict for about three hours on watch the other day, nearly flaring that nose wide enough to canopy the _Trojan_ itself.

"So why're you doing it?" Lister blamed the early hour and sudden rush of caffeine for being foolish enough to ask; ten a.m. was never a good time for quizzing Rimmer, newly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed enough to answer. Rimmer started ticking off how he needed to make it clear to Howard how HE hadn't won, after all, since his little brother wouldn't have let him die a second death, then. Lister kicked his own ankle under the table as he only halfway tuned in - he'd heard it the past two nights in bed, muttering the occasional "sure" and "uh huh" as he felt Arn's jittery elbow occasionally jab him in the back, keeping him from sleep. He knew all this already.

Rimmer went quiet, and Lister glanced up from the book he'd been surreptitiously trying to read; the hologram was twitching again, just short of flickering. He sat up and slid off his stool, going around the table and waiting for Rimmer to go still before pulling him by his hand off his seat, too. "C'mon," he coaxed, remembering what had worked yesterday.

Twenty minutes later, as Rimmer sprawled lazily on the upper bunk, one leg and an arm still hanging halfway off the edge, Lister tested his coffee and found it too cooled. He carried it to the maker to warm it up with more, rotating his jaw to work out the slight soreness; he stopped when he set the cup under Crawford, guiltily wondering what she might still be able to see through those Orphan-Annie-at-the-beach eyes. _I really should get her out of here_ , he thought, wistfully watching her stir for maybe the last time. _Even if it IS still her fault I didn't get that ordered ... Hey, if I could fix her, maybe SHE could call back and get the bloody StirMasters for us ..._

*****

Rimmer grinned stupidly at the ceiling. He wondered how many more "saves" he could get until he could somehow convince Lister it worked even better if he'd put that black Fleet uniform and insignia back on while doing it. _Like I really want Howard back_ ...

Good thing Listy really _wasn't_ a Touch-T.


End file.
